


the stillness where our spirits walk

by Lacerta26



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: 5 Times, Awkward Conversations, Coming Out, Conversations, Flirting, M/M, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25754656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: Five times Thomas Barrow came out and one time he didn't.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116





	the stillness where our spirits walk

**1900**

Phyllis, 22 and already on her way in a grand house in London, is not hugely excited to be back home; the same old faces, the same old drudgery. 

She’s promised to visit the Barrows but it’s not something she relishes much more than seeing her own family and the reception she’s had so far leaves a lot to be desired. Thomas sits in the corner, twelve years old and almost taller than her already, gangly limbs and sullen attitude. He was the only one at home when she arrived; he has made her a cup of tea and deigned to sit with her in the kitchen but so far she’s wittered on about her new life as a housemaid with barely a word from him. 

‘I expect you’re pleased to be following your father into the family business?’ she tries a change of tack and that gets a reaction out of him, he stiffens in his chair, looking towards the window with shadowed eyes.

‘I shouldn’t think _he’s_ pleased, me being the way I am.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the way you are.’

‘You don’t know a thing about me,’ he says it sharply but his eyes are shining. A boy on the cusp of manhood who hasn’t quite grown out of childhood tears.

‘I think I do,’ she says, softly, gently so he can pretend not to have heard her but the tears that were threatening spill over and he curls in on himself as he tries to hold them back.

‘Please don’t cry,’ Phyllis moves her seat closer to take hold of his hand and he clutches at her with a sudden sort of desperation. 

‘It’s alright for you, you got out.’

‘You could too, if you wanted. You do have choices, Thomas.’

‘What choices?’

‘You could try service and then you needn’t marry and…’

Thomas snatches his hand away, ‘why shouldn’t I marry? You don’t know anything about me,’ he repeats. 

‘I only thought…’

‘Well don’t. _You’ve_ never been any good at _thinking_ have you?’ 

The tears are gone now; replaced by contempt. Cruelty. Phyllis knows where he’s learned that, how to bully and taunt, find the sore spots and press. There’s no room for kindness because he’s never seen what that’s like and she’s too late to try and teach him now. 

He gets up without another word, slamming the door so hard the windows shake, and Phyllis just sits and waits with her cold cup of tea for his family to come home without him. 

**1908**

Mrs Hughes isn’t usually inclined to eavesdropping but there are raised voices in the courtyard, quickly stifled, so she pauses in case anyone is in need of a reprimand. 

It’s men’s voices she can hear; Thomas, the new junior footman and someone else. That’s Mr Carson’s domain, really, dealing with the men and their squabbles but from what she’s observed of Thomas thus far it’s mothering he needs, not fathering, and she can hear now that his voice is not raised in anger but distress. 

‘You promised. This is what you wanted,’ there’s an edge there too, something already hardened, resigned, and for a boy of 19 it’s a tragic thing. 

‘And you believed me,’ Edward, a gardener, sneers back at him callously. 

‘Edward? _Please_.’ 

‘Don’t touch me. If you so much as even look at me I _will_ tell his Lordship all about you.’

That’s quite enough of that sort of talk. Mrs Hughes turns into the courtyard, ‘gentlemen, might I ask what you’re doing?’

Thomas has colour high on his cheeks, he looks furious but ashamed, guilty to have been caught and desperate to be interrupted. 

‘Mrs Hughes,’ Edward doffs his cap, looking utterly unaffected. 

She can’t admonish him, that’s the Head Gardener’s place but she still fixes him with a steely look of disapproval, ‘I should get back to work if I were you, Edward.’

He shrugs and with a last glance of distaste at Thomas slopes off. 

Thomas looks like he might be about to turn tail and run too, when Mrs Hughes turns back to him, only the lingering desire to make a good impression keeping him in place. She can only imagine the sort of tomfoolery he’s got himself into that has Edward picking on him, green youth that he is, drinking in the pub or gambling, the sort of youthful foolishness that most sensible young men grow out of in the end. 

‘Edward can be a difficult sort but you’re not to let him bully you. What’s the cause of all this?’

She expects stammered excuses, or indignant denial. She does not expect Thomas to burst into tears, there in front of her. 

‘Now, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on? It can’t be as bad as all that?’ she hands him her handkerchief, wonders if he would appreciate a soothing hand to his arm. 

‘He told me he loved me.’

Oh. _Oh_. 

In the depths of his distress it’s clear Thomas hasn’t quite registered what he has said, what he has admitted. He continues to sob into her handkerchief, shoulders shaking until he’s making no sound, only deep, racking breaths.

Mrs Hughes waits, stands and waits, doesn’t step back or move away. When he looks up the only thing left in his eyes is fear. 

‘I shouldn’t worry about Edward, his bark is worse than his bite. But, Thomas, if I were you I would be more careful in future with who I give my heart to.’ 

**1912**

What should have been a pleasant evening spent at Grantham House has been a rather distracted affair for Philip, his eye catching again and again on the footman, Thomas, who cuts a very fine figure as he moves around the dining room. He carries himself very steady but there is something about the way he holds Philip’s gaze a touch too long that has him wondering. 

‘Lady Grantham, would it be too much bother to borrow one of your footmen this evening? My valet was otherwise indisposed,’ says Philip as the dinner draws to a close and Thomas looks up expectantly from where he’s pouring Lord Grantham’s claret.

‘Of course not, Duke. Is he ill?’ says Lady Grantham

‘No, no. Family wedding, couldn’t be helped.’

Lady Grantham tilts her head sympathetically, ‘well, I’m sure Thomas will be able to help you. Thomas?’

‘Of course, your Ladyship,’ Thomas’s eyes flick to Philip and there is something approaching a smile on his face. 

Between the end of dinner and retiring to the drawing room, Philip lays a hand on Thomas’s elbow, holding him back gently from the rest of the party, ‘I hope you don’t mind, Thomas, me adding extra work to your duties.’ 

He doesn’t ask it like a question, looking the whole time at Thomas’s lips, and when he looks up to meet his eyes Thomas grins in a way that can only be described as impertinent. 

‘Not at all, your Grace, I would relish the opportunity to serve you,’ well then, that’s confirmation in all but name and Philip smiles back with a touch more subtlety, as is befitting his rank.

‘I should hate for you to be bored for the rest of the evening,’ he says as they turn towards the Drawing Room. He lightly presses his fingertips the small of Thomas’s back and is pleased when Thomas leans imperceptibly into his touch. 

‘That shouldn’t be a problem, _tonight_ , your Grace.’ 

‘How gratifying that is to hear,’ Philip whispers as they cross the threshold and part as if words of no importance had passed between them. 

‘Thomas!’ says Lord Grantham’s butler pompously, ‘stop dithering and serve these drinks.’

Philip spends an enjoyable moment watching Thomas crossing the room before he joins Lord Grantham by the fireplace. There is much to interest him about the Grantham’s even if they don’t represent a family of quite high enough standing for him to consider marrying one of their daughters. It never hurts to keep one's options open and Thomas, at the very least, will be a charming way to pass the time. 

**1917**

It’s been a long morning already and Sybil steps round the back of Downton hospital for a moment of peace only to find Thomas has beaten her to it. He’s smoking and pacing, fretting, she can tell, probably about Lieutenant Courtney.

Everyone has warned Sybil about Thomas but she’s always found him to be diligent in his work and charming in the moments they’ve found themselves alone together, if somewhat hesitant to make friends.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Barrow.’

‘Afternoon, milady...I mean, Nurse Crawley,’ he ashes his cigarette and looks for all the world like he wants to hurry away.

‘I really wouldn’t mind if you called me Sybil, you know.’

‘I don’t think we can quite go that far.’

‘No, I suppose not. Papa would probably faint.’

‘And I should hate to cause Carson more consternation than I already do,’ he says it with such a straight face Sybil nearly misses the smile plucking at the corners of his mouth but their eyes catch and she can’t help snorting with undignified laughter. His face, often so severe, becomes handsome with mirth as he laughs with her and she realises how rare it is to see him smile. 

‘Carson’s not so bad, really,’ of course he isn’t, not to her, but she has all the privileges of being a daughter of the house and none of Thomas’s disadvantages, as Carson would see them. 

‘Not in a general way no, but we’ll never quite see eye to eye, he and I.’ 

They stand quietly for a moment but Thomas is fidgeting with his gloved hand and Sybil longs to reach out and hold him still. Instead she speaks, voicing something that has been on her mind for a while now.

‘I think it would be good for you to spend some time with Lieutenant Courtney. I think you could help him.’ 

‘Why should I especially be able to help him?’ he sounds baffled, sarcastic already at the suggestion he might be good for somebody. 

She takes the risk of honesty, ‘because he’s like you.’

‘I shouldn’t think he’s much like me,’ he means educated, titled, brought low by the war, yes, but a gentleman all the same. 

‘You know what I mean,’ she looks at him shrewdly but smiles, too, hopeful they can find each other on the same page. 

Thomas looks at the floor, his cigarette burning dangerously close to his fingers, and back up with a sudden inhale. He breathes out and says, ‘yes, I believe he is like me, in one respect at least.’

‘So could you speak to him, man to man? I do think it would be such a help to him.’ 

Thomas nods, flicks his cigarette end to the ground. It’s a start so she lets him walk away. 

Maybe it won’t help Lieutenant Courtney but she hopes it will help Thomas. 

**1928**

George almost never sees the grown ups cry except today he’s where he shouldn’t be, snuck away from Nanny and his cousins, into the servant’s staircase and there’s Mr Barrow, sat on the step, weeping. 

‘Mr Barrow are you sad?’

‘Oh Master George, where are you supposed to be?’ Mr Barrow scrubs his face and smiles but he doesn’t stand up. George likes that, all the grown ups are always towering over him, but Mr Barrow gets down to his level. 

‘Are you sad?’ George sits on the step and repeats himself in case Mr Barrow didn’t hear him the first time.

‘No, I’m not sad, Master George. I had a letter from a friend ’ 

‘But if they’re your friend why has a letter made you cry?’ grown ups seem to get upset about the strangest things or angry, usually, but a letter from a friend seems like an odd thing to cry about. George takes Mr Barrow’s hand and pats it like he does with Sybbie or Marigold when they’re upset. Nanny doesn’t like it when he does that but she isn’t here to scold him about the proper behaviour of boys. 

‘I haven't seen him in a while is all and I was happy to hear from him. Sometimes things can make you so happy you cry, do you see?’

‘Like when Mama had Caroline?’ 

‘Something like that.’

George thinks for a moment. Henry is the only person that seems to make Mama cry or when Donk is being a bore and upsets Granny. 

‘He’s your special friend then? Like Donk and Granny or...Mr Carson and Mrs Carson?’

Mr Barrow gives him a rather peculiar look then, not like he’s about to give him a telling off but as if he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

‘Yes, he’s my special friend.’ 

‘Well I should invite him to visit. Then you won’t be sad when he writes you letters.’

‘Maybe I will, Master George, thank you.’

George nods, cheering up Mr Barrow gets easier and easier these days, ‘I’m ready to go back to the Nursery now.’ 

‘Very well. A piggyback, is it?’ he stands and crouches on the landing so George can climb up. 

Once he’s settled, George rests his head on Mr Barrow’s shoulder, feeling suddenly serious and like he might soon be too grown up himself for this sort of thing, and he has to be sure of something, before it’s too late, ‘but Mr Barrow, I’ll always be your best friend won’t I?’

Mr Barrow does laugh then, ‘of course, Master George, don’t you worry.’

Mr Barrow went away once but he did come back and they were still friends like he’d promised. There’s something in that, George thinks, coming back to the people that are important, no matter how far away you go, or for how long. 

**1927**

Thomas’s heart is hammering as he steps out of the station, adrenaline and anxiety making him feel off balance. 

Then there’s Richard, leaning nonchalantly against the car and his heart starts hammering for a whole new reason. Any silly infatuation he had for the man will be well and truly dashed, now he knows who Thomas is, now he’s had to save him from himself to keep the King untouched by scandal. 

He’s amazed his feet get him across the cobbles and he’s speaking before he’s even formulated excuses, ‘was it you who got me out?’

Richard’s smiling, not annoyed or disgusted, exasperated maybe, at Thomas’s foolishness. Foolhardiness more like. 

‘No, the good fairy came down on a moonbeam.’

‘How did you know where I’d gone?’

‘The landlord told me. Waited outside, followed you here. Then I showed the sergeant my card and that seemed to settle things.’ 

Thomas takes the proffered card, heavy cardstock, expensive and worth its weight in gold to the right people, ‘the royal household. He must have loved that. I’m a…I'm afraid I've been a silly boy.’

Christ, of all the idiotic things he could have done this evening, he really has surpassed himself with his lack of self-preservation, when he’s usually so careful. Anything for a pretty face; will he ever learn. Except as lovely as Chris Webster was Thomas came to York on a very different promise, for a different pretty face, one that is looking at him carefully now and smiling. 

‘You just need to be a bit more circumspect in future, Mr Barrow,’ the leather of Richard’s glove is warm against his lips and Thomas holds in a breath and lets the reality of what is being revealed to him sink in. 

The swiftness of the moment could almost convince him it hasn’t happened as Richard climbs into the car with a smile but Thomas is still holding the calling card and he can do nothing but follow. He’d follow this man anywhere, now. 

Inside the car Thomas lets out a breath, a breath he feels he has been holding his whole life, and asks, ‘how did you know?’

‘About you? Give me some credit,’ Richard laughs but not unkindly. 

Sarky bastard Thomas thinks, already calming down, at ease in his presence, ‘no, before. Did you know before, when you asked me to come to York?’

‘I had an inkling. Some might call it a hope. But no, I wasn't sure. I am now,’ he takes his eyes off the road to find Thomas’s and smile. 

‘Me too,’ Thomas agrees, to all of it.

‘Well, we make a right pair then don’t we.’ 

_I bloody well hope so._

Wishful thinking has got him into trouble before but there’s something about this moment; after what’s transpired this evening Thomas isn’t a risk anymore, he's a safe witness for Richard’s honesty, but Richard still has far more to lose than Thomas if either of them are ever found out. 

They sit in silence for a while as the countryside slides past them and Thomas manages to get the beating of his heart under control. The thought that nothing is going to come of this helps to temper the hope as Richard drives them out of York but he still has to ask.

‘Why did you help me?’

‘Men like us have to stick together. You have to have someone you can be honest with or you’ll spend your life alone.’

Richard says it so simply, like it’s easy. Thomas forgets, what with his nature being an open secret at Downton and the number of people he’s told on purpose or by accident, what’s it’s like to say it to someone and have them say it back. To have them mean it for no other reason than solidarity. To have someone understand. 

‘I have done that, I think,’ says Thomas, and after a beat he clarifies, ‘been alone.’

Richard looks at him again and smiles, ‘there’s no need.’

_Maybe not anymore._

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Alone by Siegfried Sassoon


End file.
